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DTTDblOM3(iJ 


Mn&  f  tagft. 


BY   MRS.  MARGARET   PIGGOT. 


God  of  nations,  God  of  might, 
In  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
At  Thy   footstool  low  I  bow, 
Hear  me,  hear  me,  hear  me  now. 

All  without  is  dark  and  drear, 
All  within  is  doubt  and  fear. 
Where  for  refuge  can  I  flee, 
God  of  Hosts,  if  not  to  Thee! 

What  fierce  scourging.  Judge  of  all, 
Must  upon  my  country  fall? 
Must  we  o'er  this  land  so  fair, 
Witness  carnage  and  despair? 
All  withdrawn  Thy  favoring  light. 
All  our  noon-day  turn'd  to  night. 

Oh,  if  1  in  anguish  bow'd 

May  not  see  behind  the  cloud. 

May  not  have  one  gleam  to  dart 

Through  the  gloom  that  shrouds  my  heart, 

From  its  depths,  wlicre  Thou  canst  see, 

Tn  the  dust  I  cry  to  Tiiee. 

We  have  sinned,  oh  God  of  might, 
Sinned,  rebellious  in  Thy  sight; 
Pride  and  wrath  are  o'er  the  laud, 
But,  avenger,  stay  Tliine  hand, 
For  our  children  smiling  here, 
For  our  little  ones  so  de:ir. 
Stay  Thy  judgment  swift  and  sure. 
Stay  it  God,  for  these  are  pure. 

By  the  child  whose  feeble  cry, 
From  the  desert  rose  on  high. 
Bringing  to  the  mother  there. 
Angel  cheer  in  her  despair — 
By  the  babe  that  Tliou  didst  save 
From  the  Nile's  engulfing  wave — 
By  the  children  He  did  press 
To  His  breast  in  soft  caress —    . 
And  the  loud  Hosannah  song 
Rising  from  the  infant  throng — 
Save  us,  save  us,  spare  Thine  hand. 
For  the  children,  save  the  land. 


Dark,  still  dar'c.  no  light  I  trace, 
Hast  Thou  turn'd  away  Thy  face  ? 
Must  we  walk  this  fiery  path, 
Scowl'd  upon  by  direful  wrath? 
Must  we  to  the  dust  go  down 
Blasted  by  Thy  hopeless  frown? 
If  so.  Father,  we  obey, 
But  for  the  young  I  still  would  pray. 

For  the  young  I  make  my  moan. 
Such  as  these,  my  own,  my  own; 
These,  my  boys  in  rosy  rest. 
This,  the  babe  upon  my  breast, 
Little  dreaming  as  they  sleep 
Why  their  mother  wakes  to  weep — 
Oh!  let  me  but  feel  the  rod. 
Spare  them,  spare  them.  Oh  my  God. 

And  for  all  so  passion  tossed 
All  this  people  ruined,  lost; 
Forgetting  now  their  ancient  trust, 
Trampling  all  they  loved  in  dust — 
Still  I  cry,  ibr  only  Thou 
Canst  control  and  save  them  now. 

]iy  the  mercy  Thou  didst  show 

To  Thy  people  long  ago. 

When  by  Thee  released,  restored. 

They  like  us  forgot  Thee,  Lord — 

By  the  prayer  of  Him  who  died. 

By  His  love,  the  crucified. 

And  the  tears  He  wej  t  o'er  them — 

Wept  o'er  doomed  Jerusalem  ; 

Oh  I  forgive,  forgive  us.  Lord, 

Let  Thy  pity  be  restored  ; 

Say  again,  if 'tis  Thy  will, 

To  these  billows, —  Peace,  be  still. 

ApKiL27th,  1861. 


J.    D.    TOY,  PRINT. 


Hollinger  Corp. 
pH8.5 


